


First Born: Prologue

by Syntheticpalindromes



Series: First Born [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, M/M, jsyk, this is literally just a prologue to a dutch/hosea fic, with arthur and john being dumb ass brothers im gonna write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntheticpalindromes/pseuds/Syntheticpalindromes
Summary: The kid was so scrawny, and dirty, that Arthur actually had to laugh when Dutch rode in with him mounted on the back of The Count. Plastered to his back, shuddering and looking like he could do with a bath. Something that Miss Grimshaw immediately voiced as the boy was plonked unceremoniously down onto the grass of the camp they’d just recently set up. The kid’s eyes darting from place to place, his bony, dirt encrusted hands shaking as Susan tucked an arm around him and led him away. Hopefully to that bath.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde, future Hosea/Dutch, well
Series: First Born [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603252
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	First Born: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i was like "hey wouldnt it be funny if i wrote a 5 times-esque fic where arthur and john literally cannot get away from dutch and hosea being loved up and in their face" and then instead of actually writing that i wrote the prologue to it bc i wanted to set the mood but then the mood didnt really fit the mood of THAT first fic idea i had. 
> 
> anyway, i guess u dont HAVE to read this but itd be nice if u did.
> 
> it'll get gayer in the next fic i promise lads xx

The kid was so scrawny, and dirty, that Arthur actually had to laugh when Dutch rode in with him mounted on the back of The Count. Plastered to his back, shuddering and looking like he could do with a bath. Something that Miss Grimshaw immediately voiced as the boy was plonked unceremoniously down onto the grass of the camp they’d just recently set up. The kid’s eyes darting from place to place, his bony, dirt encrusted hands shaking as Susan tucked an arm around him and led him away. Hopefully to that bath.

Dutch sidled up to him, Arthur lighting a cigarette with the scratch of a match across the sole of his boot, “He was to be hanged.”

Arthur offered up a snort of indignance, “One more mouth to feed, Dutch.”

“Don’t doubt me, son.” He gave Arthur a glance, that once over that he had learned from Hosea. Calculative. “Don’t be jealous.” A smirk broke out across his face, “Just because you’re no longer our only son.”

~

The boy, John, was washed and fed quickly. Grimshaw wrapping him in a blanket and passing him a hand of cards about the table they were sitting with Hosea at. The woman giving John a terse smile, aware that he still looked like a rabbit in the headlights every time someone so much as breathed too hard near him.

He was even scrawnier without the thin layer of dirt about him, Arthur noticed. 

“Maybe a tot of whiskey would do him some good.” Arthur speculated. To which both Susan and Hosea gave him such sour looks, that he shrank down into the seat in front of him, “I had it at his age, is all.”

“The boy doesn’t need anything else tonight except something to take his mind off of what occurred earlier, Arthur.” Hosea offered in that incredibly matter of fact way he said everything. Even when what he was saying was wrong, the tone was still there.

Arthur blinked, his eyes threatening to roll, 

“Whiskey takes my mind off things regularly.”

“That’s because you’re a fool, Morgan.” Grimshaw shot back.

John laughed for the first time that evening.

~

For three days John barely spoke a word to any of them, and if he was being honest, it set Arthur’s teeth on edge. Raising the hairs on the back of his neck whenever the little twig would walk around the small camp they had, poking around and looking at things he didn’t need to be looking at. He was nosy and sneaky and far, far too quiet. Like a little rat.

The first full sentence Arthur heard of him was when he voiced this, controversial opinion, towards him while he was having a lesson with Hosea. Who had taken it upon himself to teach the boy his alphabet, hoping it would lead onto reading and writing. 

“When’s he gonna start pulling his weight? I don’t suffer vermin around camp, eating supplies and not doing anything.”

Dutch looked absolutely beside himself when John leapt up, reaching across the table, knocking the paper and ink pen Hosea had laid out for him across the grass. John’s pipsqueak voice crying out as he grasped for Arthur to strangle him seemingly, 

“Don’t you call me a vermin, you big oaf! You bastard! I’ll gut you!”

Dutch planted a big, strong hand on Hosea’s shoulder, “Oh, he’s just a picture isn’t he!” Smacking a kiss to his temple.

Hosea, looking amused, chirped happily to Arthur, “He reminds me of me at that age.”

~

Luckily for both of them, it didn’t come to fisticuffs or pistols at dawn (which Arthur was mildly put upon about, he would have enjoyed shooting the shoes off the boy), but John’s little outburst did result in the boy bursting into a fit of tears and tearing off towards the stream just to the north of their camp. Returning after two hours, Grimshaw noting loudly that he was right on time for supper, fists bunched about his sides and a look of utter teenage anger smacked across his ruddy little face.

Hosea smacked Arthur across the back of the head before he could laugh at the scene,

“Not a sound from you. John, come here now,”

The young boy trotted over diligently, head hung low, 

“I ain’t vermin.” He sniffled weakly. 

“I know you ain’t, Arthur was being the dolt that he is so well versed in being. Arthur, come here. Now.”

Arthur didn’t do much arguing with Hosea, so he went. 

Arms crossed tightly across his body, Hosea nodded his head towards the tiny, angry, boy, 

“Apologise to him.”

Arthur balked, “I ain’t apologising! I’m an outlaw for Pete’s sake!”

“Yes, and I raised you to a certain degree. You’re an outlaw, that’s true. But you’re not to be unkind to the mite. He’s a boy. Boys are _off limits_. Apologise. Or I’m allowing Miss Grimshaw to take away your ability to enjoy her lovely stews.”

John upon hearing that dropped the look he was currently wearing. His twisted, upset face grew into a smug smile. 

A smile that Arthur would grow to know all too well over the coming years. 

It was also the first time in his life that John understood that youngest child privileges were oh so real.


End file.
